


Innocence

by Caim (wingblade)



Category: Drag-On Dragoon | Drakengard
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, General, Modern Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-04 22:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12780813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingblade/pseuds/Caim
Summary: For as long as she can remember, Zero has kept her favorite red nail polish on the table next to the couch. It's a dark, blood red with a slight shimmer of glitter, unbeknownst to most.





	Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: innocence.

For as long as she can remember, Zero has kept her favorite red nail polish on the table next to the couch. It's a dark, blood red with a slight shimmer of glitter, unbeknownst to most. To see its pleasant shimmer, a person would have to be close enough to her to make out the minute detail of her nails. With most people, this proximity usually entails a shove of some sort.

Her eyes dart around the room, as if a bottle of polish could have sprouted legs and walked off. It's never _Zero's_  fault when these things happen, but everyone has been berating her for years on how she never seems to blame herself for anything. This is her first thought now, when usually it never would have occurred to her.

"Maybe I...misplaced it," she mumbles to herself, but it's mainly a show to whoever — or whatever — might be listening that she's _trying_.

It isn't in her trash heap of a car. Nor is it in the bathroom, or in the bedroom. Zero's lover, One, happens to arrive home from work as Zero has entered her selfish "it's everyone's fault but my own" mode.

Zero watches One with thinned eyes as she places a few bags of groceries on the counter. One seems completely oblivious to Zero's frustration at such a trivial matter.

Crossing her arms, Zero accosts One: "Where is my nail polish?"

"Your...nail polish?" One hums as she puts away groceries.

"Don't play coy with me," Zero snaps in a voice entirely too soft; a tone reserved for One.

"Really, Zero." One pauses her work to pull Zero into her arms — Zero, her body usually so tightly strung, eyes so hard, demeanor so antagonizing, falls back into the embrace — and kisses her, a soft but lingering brush of their lips meeting.

When they part, One asks, "Did you check under the couch?"

* * *

Zero will never admit One was right — and she herself had been wrong — but at least her nails are once again imbued with their dangerous hue. It's the color that tells the people who know her not to come too close.

 _But never One_ , Zero muses. _Never One_.


End file.
